Silks and Sand Read online

  “This here’s Bold N’ Flashy; he was from the 1989 crop of Bold Ruckus,” Jean said, giving the stallion a caress on the muzzle.

  “Nice,” Evan replied, wandering down the row. He stopped in front of a bay stallion. The horse seemed rather plain, no fancy white markings on his face to distinguish him. His eyes, however, although appearing quite calm, held a fire deep inside them.

  “Oh, that’s War Cry.” Jean wandered over. “He’s by Unbridled out of Words of War.”

  “Good lines. Traces back through Mr. Prospector to Native Dancer, right?”

  “Yes, yes, he does. You know your bloodstock, Mr. Stoddard.”

  “And to Nasrullah and Ribot on his dam’s side.”

  “Yes!”

  Evan smiled. “Knowing is all part of the business.”

  “Well, unfortunately this fellow sustained an injury as a two-year-old. He raced only twice. Didn’t win anything, but we think with his background he’ll be a great sire.” Jean reached into his pocket and took out a sugar cube. He winked at Evan. “Shame on me.” Offering the sugar to War Cry, he gave the stallion a pat on the forehead. “He’s a good one.”

  “Does he have any foals on the ground?”

  “Oui, you’ll see one.” Jean led the way out to the paddocks. He held up Evan’s list and pointed. “Here’s this one. He’s by Bold N’ Flashy.”

  Evan watched as the horse meandered around the field. “Nice, looks well put together for a yearling.”

  Behind, the thunder of hooves and squealing of a horse made Evan spin around in alarm. Next to them, a large, chestnut horse careened around the muddy paddock like a maniac.

  “Geez! What the hell is that?!”

  Jean shook his head. “That’s War Monger.”

  Evan watched the animal. It was in a full-on gallop, not giving thought that its hooves barely touched the ground. The horse neared the fence, and in an instant, changed directions and was off and running again. “One helluva horse.”

  “He’s to be sent to Keeneland.”

  “Oh? So he’s for sale?”

  “Yes, of course. A long-yearling—born January second last year. That’s War Cry’s colt.”

  Evan observed as the horse flew around the paddock for what seemed hours. The horse never faltered; he was pure speed and stamina, the mud was doing little to slow him down. “What do you think he’ll go for?”

  “Mmm, not sure; War Cry’s not very well known in America. His breeding’s sound, but I don’t know for sure what the owner was thinking with this cross.”

  “He’s well put together: big, solid, good bone and muscle.”

  Jean leaned against the fence as they watched the spectacle. “That, he is.”

  Evan continued to watch. “When we get back to the office, I’d like to look more at his pedigree.”

  “Certainly. Although I do warn you, he’s quite spirited, and for some reason, highly opinionated about what goes on with his life.”

  “I see. I like a bit of fire in my horses.”

  “Hey, boss?” Tito said as he came into the stable office. He was another member of the Stoddard dynasty. His father immigrated from Mexico years ago and found work from Edward Stoddard. Tito had been born on the farm, his mother having gone into unexpected labor. Despite his Mexican heritage, he proudly defined himself as an American. This was his country, and he loved it.

  Tom looked up from his paperwork. “What?”

  “Do you want me to poultice Wanderer’s leg?”

  “Yes, thank you…And can you take Ziggy out for a walk?”

  “Okay, how long?”

  “Uh, twenty minutes should be fine…And cold hose him after.”

  “Right, boss.”

  As he returned to work on the training schedule, Tom wondered how Evan’s trip to Toronto was going. Normally, by now, Evan would have called once or twice wanting approval to purchase a horse. The phone had been eerily silent. Perhaps he wasn’t finding anything, he thought, making an annotation under one horse’s name.

  Tom’s life as a trainer wasn’t particularly bad. Sure the hours were long, the work difficult, but that didn’t bother him in the slightest. His job at least kept him near what he loved: horses.

  At the age of sixteen, he got his apprentice license, which allowed him to ride in organized race meets. Before that, it had been back road dirt tracks, the occasional pony race, or exercising horses for his father. He’d basically been born on a horse. The earliest photos his father had of him were sitting on the saddle in front of his pappy. He learned to ride before he could walk, and his horse sense was incredibly keen.

  Unfortunately, a late teenage growth spurt left him out of the racing light forever. Sprouting from 5’4” to 5’7” did not help his career. He also battled with his weight. After ending up numerous times in the hospital for malnourishment or dehydration, Tom realized there was no way to follow his dream. Too tall, and too heavy, he turned to what he knew second best: training.

  Now, at age thirty-eight, Tom knew just how his life would play out. His father, grandfather, and great-grandfather had all been successful trainers after their racing careers ended.

  Outside the office was the sound of hooves on the packed dirt barn aisle. Tom glanced up to see the large gray head of Lost Wanderer sticking in the door. “Hey, boss?” a voice said.

  He smiled. “What?”

  Tito ducked under the horse’s neck. “Can you take a look at this? I’m not liking what I see.”

  “Sure.” Tom got up and went out. Tito had removed the bandage from the horse’s right hind leg. It was swollen and warm to the touch. “Oh, not good.”

  “I had a look in his stall; I think he lay down last night and might have gotten cast—there were hoof scrapes on the wall where he tried to get up.”

  “But he was up this morning, right?”

  “Yes, yes. He was up, waiting for his breakfast. I bet he banged his leg when he got up.”

  Tom sighed. Wander was one of their better runners, not to mention a terrifically sweet horse. Everyone at the farm believed the big gray had a heart of gold. He’d been in nineteen races, winning a fair amount of them. Now, as a four-year-old, the gelding still had plenty of run left in him. But one day while out galloping, he’d strained a tendon in his leg quite badly. Evan didn’t even cringe at the hefty vet bills, he loved Wanderer too. The horse had won him close to a million dollars; he was worth keeping around.

  “Okay, take him to the wash stall and get the hose running…I’m gonna get some Bute to help with the pain and swelling.” He reached up and gave the gelding a gentle caress on the forehead. “We’ll get ya feelin’ better, my friend.”

  Four days later, Evan returned from Toronto. He pulled into the driveway just after dinner on Friday evening. Cindy ran out to meet him. “Daddy! Daddy!” She leapt into his arms.

  “Ooohh, hello my little Southern belle!” He wrapped his arms around her and gave her a kiss. “Have you been a good girl?”

  “Yes, Daddy, of course! What’d you bring me?”

  “Bring you?” He decided to play a little game.

  “Daddy, you always bring me something when you’ve been away.”

  “Well, what if Daddy was busy and didn’t get the time?”

  She frowned. “But you always make time!”

  He set her down, went to the back of the dark green Land Rover, and opened the rear door. Digging through his suitcase, he produced a small box. “It’s another one for your collection.”

  Cindy took the box. “Thank you, Daddy!” She carefully opened it. “Oh, pretty!” Reaching in, she removed a small, brown ceramic horse. Even at age seven, she knew it was delicate and needed to be handled with care. “I love it!”

  Evan saw Suzanne come out. He was very happy to see her. The last two days had been spent with Ginger, working out the particulars of her employment. All that time with a beautiful woman and he felt terribly hot under the collar. He hoped Suzanne would oblige him. “Hello, sweetheart,
” he said with a broad smile.

  “Have a good trip?” she asked, giving him a peck on the cheek.

  “Not bad.” He zipped the suitcase shut, set it on the ground, and closed the door. “Business as usual.” Picking up the bag, he headed into their 150-year-old house. It was a stately, white antebellum mansion modeled in the style for the period. Over the years, improvements had been made, but great care was always taken to keep the structure as original as possible.

  Suzanne followed him inside. “Have you had dinner, dear?”

  “Yeah, had a bite after I landed.” He stopped and turned, giving her the sexiest look he could muster. Evan might have been tired from all the travel, but he wanted his wife in the worst way. He’d find the energy for that. “How about we go upstairs?” he said in a husky tone.

  She knew what he had in mind, and debated if she felt up to it. “Now?”

  “Yes.”

  “Cindy, why don’t you get ready for bed?” Suzanne gave her a shooing off.

  “Aw, do I have to? I wanna spend time with Daddy.”

  “You can spend time with him tomorrow.”

  “Oh, okay,” she huffed and stomped up the stairs to her room.

  Evan wasted no time. He hurried up to their bedroom, dumped his suitcase on the low-backed settee at the foot of the bed, and commenced to undressing.

  Suzanne wandered in a few minutes later. She made sure Cindy brushed her teeth and headed to bed. “What’s the hurry?” she asked, closing the door and turning the lock.

  “I missed you.” Evan slipped out of his briefs and stood naked in front of her. “I really missed you.” His state of arousal quite apparent, he went over and put his arms around her, feeling the soft fabric of her dress. “Make love to me, my beautiful wife.”

  Images of Ginger flashed into his head, and Evan fought to get them out. Suzanne was his wife, and he loved her. He took his vows of marriage seriously and never even dreamt of cheating on her. But Ginger’s face kept appearing in his mind.

  He kissed Suzanne with passion, his hands moving over her body. Pulling her close, he wanted her to feel his fullness against her, to know his desires. They had a good marriage; Evan thought perhaps a little more time spent making love would be better, but they were both very busy. So when the opportunity presented, he didn’t hesitate to take advantage.

  Suzanne slipped from his arms and started undressing. Evan lay across the bed, watching her with enthusiasm. He fought to replace the images of Ginger with those of his wife, now in all her naked glory.

  She was considered by most to be a trophy wife, fairly tall at 5’10”, buxom, with flowing golden hair that Evan, with his horse-mindedness, thought resembled the silky, fine, flaxen mane of a chestnut horse. Her eyes were the deepest cobalt he’d ever seen, her body perfect, even after one child.

  Joining him on the bed, Evan greedily took her in his arms again. He kissed her hard, his passion swelling even greater. Lifting her slightly, he placed her on her back. His hand slid down between her legs, his finger moving gently. Suzanne moaned and opened her legs. Evan felt her warm moistness calling to him; he was almost beside himself.

  Nudging her legs farther apart, he adjusted his position, and slowly entered. Her body enveloped him with familiar comfort. This was the woman he loved, not Ginger. As he began to move, he gazed down at his wife; she had her eyes closed, seemingly enjoying his attentions.

  Evan closed his eyes, battling to get the thoughts of Ginger from his head. But the harder he tried, the more she appeared, stirring him into a frenzy with his lovemaking.

  His strokes came harder, he plunged deeper into Suzanne, his tension building to climax. She felt his sense of urgency and opened her legs wider. Despite his roughness, she derived her own pleasure, moaning and writhing under him. Her body responding, muscles tightening around him like a vice.

  Evan moved faster, his breath coming in short grunts, the tension in his body building deliciously. In his mind, the images of Ginger refused to fade. He didn’t care right now, his beautiful wife was lying beneath him and he was going to show her how much he loved her.

  Fighting back his climax, he tuned his senses into her body. Her muscles were so tight, squeezing him with every stroke. Suzanne moaned louder, reaching down, she let her finger play around, pleasuring herself even more. He leaned and cupped one of her soft, full breasts, taking the nipple in his mouth. Sucking greedily, he kept in time with his movement, his tongue playing over the firm flesh.

  He dove deeply into her, slowing slightly; her special spot was somewhere close. Evan longed to find it and send her over the edge. Rising up more on his knees, he plunged deeply into her. Suzanne could take every inch of him and he wasn’t complaining. She cried out in ecstasy as he found the right spot. Picking up his pace, he used his body, his own gift to pleasure her, all the while fighting his urge to climax.

  When the tension reached a pinnacle, Suzanne gasped and cried. A wave washed over her body, the flood of feelings and sensations were amazing. Evan fed off her climax. With a few solid thrusts, he pushed as deeply as he could go. He came, throwing his head back and letting out a loud growl. Finishing with a few slow, deliberate strokes, he worked to catch his breath. Gazing down at his wife, he smiled. “I love you.”

  3

  The next morning, Tom walked Rusty back to the barn. It wasn’t a fancy barn by any standards. Built probably 70 years ago, it had 24 stalls: half on one side, half on the other, backing up against a common wall. An outer, covered aisleway allowed horses to be walked when the weather didn’t cooperate. The white paint was peeling in quite a few places, some of the boards had begun to rot, and dust covered much of the surfaces.

  With the morning workouts accomplished, it was time to tend to the horses and review the training schedule.

  Tom untacked Rusty, gave him a good brushing, and put him away. Picking up a hay net, he affixed it to the screw eye on the top of the Dutch door. The horse grabbed a mouthful and munched away happily. “Okay, pal, I’ll check on you later,” Tom said as he headed toward the office.

  The noise of an approaching truck got his attention. He waited to see what it was. A large horse van pulled into the yard. A lot of crashing and banging noises emanated from inside it. The driver hopped out and approached Tom. “Hi, got a delivery for a Mr. Evan Stoddard.”

  “What?”

  “Got a horse, a colt that Mr. Stoddard purchased. Where can we unload him?”

  Tom scratched his head. “Uh, there is fine.”

  The driver turned and hollered, “Okay, boys, you can take him off!”

  One of the grooms climbed out, hurriedly opened the door, and brought down the ramp. Another groom wrestled with the horse inside. More crashing and banging went on amidst some hollering and the occasional swear word. Finally the horse came into view. He was a large coppery chestnut with a long stripe down his face. Tom could see fire in his eyes; this horse wanted to explode.

  As the groom led him down the ramp, the colt got his feet on the soil, and promptly reared, yanking the groom right off the ground. Tom noticed that the Chifney anti-rearing bit attached to the horse’s halter had little effect. The colt screamed and boxed with his front legs. His eyes ringed white with anger. This horse had issues.

  “Where do you want him?” the driver asked, trying to help get the colt down on all four feet.

  Tom pointed. “The end stall right there.” He whistled to one of his grooms. “Hey, Bradley, get the door on twenty-four!”

  “Yes, Sir!” Bradley called as he hurried to open the door. The driver and groom fought the angry colt all the way to the stall. Along the way, the horse managed to lash out and kick the groom in the thigh. He bellowed in pain, but refused to give up his grasp on the lead.

  Tom stepped forward to help. In the blink of an eye, the colt snaked its head out and bit him on the right arm, tearing a large chunk of material from his jacket sleeve.

  “Son-of-a-bitch!” Tom barked, trying to get away from
the wild beast. “Get that damn horse in a stall!”

  “We’re trying!” the groom called and he was bashed around by the colt. Hooves and dirt were flying everywhere.

  Once inside, they quickly removed the bit and lead ropes, and made a hasty retreat. Bradley slammed the door just in time. The colt shot its head out, teeth gnashing, ears pinned. He commenced to kicking the daylights out of the walls of the stall.

  Tom couldn’t believe what he saw. This horse was nuts. Why did Evan go and buy a horse like this? And without consulting him first. They had a deal, didn’t they? He looked at the sleeve of his jacket. The fabric was gone and the white poly stuffing hung out in shreds. The driver approached with a clipboard. “Hey, can you sign here?”

  Tom checked the information. “You sure this is the right horse?”

  “Yes, Sir, the vet verified the tattoo at the time of boarding. Do you wanna check it to make sure?”

  He looked at the stall, the amount of crashing and kicking had not stopped. The colt frantically bashed away and squealed in anger.

  “Um, no, I’ll leave that to the new owner.” He signed the invoice and handed it back. The driver nodded, gave him a copy, and returned to the van. The groom had already put the ramp up and closed the door. They seemed quite relieved to have the demon off their hands.

  Tom walked to the main house. He knocked three times on the heavy oak door and entered. Since the two families went back a long way, there wasn’t much formality needed when going into the house. He found Evan in the study, behind his desk. “Ev, are you out of your mind?!”

  He looked up from his work. “I take it War Monger has arrived.”

  “War Monger? Yeah, appropriate name all right.” He walked in circles in front of the desk. “Look, Ev, I thought we had an agreement…When you took over for your pappy, and I took over for mine, we agreed there’d be no surprises.”

  “And so far, there haven’t been.”